It’s always pleasant to watch the children wake up and eat. This morning was no different.
First one that we see is Baby. You hear rustling around and then suddenly, hair springs into the room just before he does. His curly, spring-loaded hair bounces in, greeted us, and saved a seat for him while he collected his breakfast. Achiever, of course, had already showered, ate, and completed three more pages on his DNA thesis while simultaneously working on his aerodynamic research. He left me a note saying he was jogging to school to ‘incorporate my 30 minutes of moderate-level physical activity’.
Chip, who usually stares down anyone daring enough to approach his 4ft perimeter of personal space, was congenial. I stayed quiet and kept my head down; if you don’t spook him, you won’t get zapped with the Vulcan subsonic transmitter. I did and was rewarded with a rare sighting of his ritualistic marking of the food to ‘call it’ before others came upstairs. Slacker came up the stairs with his rosy red cheeks and toothy grin. Not to be outdone by Achiever, he did his best to make us proud. He actually put his pants on. Not buttoned, but on, and that was a big step in the right direction. He smiled and asked if there was anything for breakfast while crumbs were falling out of his mouth as he chewed his scone.
Teen, polishing his hormone-induced skills on time management, woke mere seconds before we needed to leave. I heard the shower running as I turned the key in the van and knew all was well in the world. With my hubby-packed bag and another hot mug of coffee (two in one day!) I sighed with contentment.
With a moment to spare, I went to put on my shoes. (OK, for the sake of time management, I do carry my shoes in the car to put on later. Hey, you do what you do, right?) So I notice that my cute, painted pinkie toe felt a bit strange. I look down and see that the nail has been cracked. I checked the mirror and see that Slacker and Chip are engaged in a minor seat rumble and know I have a solid 45 seconds before one gets choked, so I get out and head to the bathroom where all the medical supplies are waiting at the ready for any emergency.
As I crossed the threshold, my brain registers the scene: wet towels, opened witch hazel containers, random cotton balls, band-aid wrappings on the floor, 3 open bottles of mouthwash, hair gel, and three empty toilet paper rolls. There was also a standing puddle of something wet on the floor. I’m no expert, but I bet that if a CPS officer walked into that room, my house would be much quieter and I’d have a lot more spare time on my hands for a few days.
Entering the sacred ‘boy nirvana’, my blood pressure threatened to escalate into a cardiac incident. Ignoring the urge to scream my head off, I channeled my inner calming spirit and commenced searching for a small bandage. I found everything but. I did, however, discover many secrets of my children along with a few ominous looking creatures in that short time spent inside.
Although we were late, I considered the morning a success. You see, even with a missing toenail, my bathroom discovery was essential to my cadre of knowledge we mothers must store away for future use. Secret chore-shirking, hidey-hole, scientific experiment information is priceless and worth a broken toenail any day.